Territorial Claims
by Canadino
Summary: Sometimes England's cooking could be counted as a blessing or a curse. Usually, it's a curse. JOKER


**Disclaimer: If Axis Powers Hetalia were mine, I wouldn't need to write fanfics. If any of these songs were mine, I wouldn't be writing fanfics.**

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**Minimal fluff 09!**

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Territorial Claims

America knew he was in a bit of trouble when he visited England one day and found the older nation hard at work in a place he should never venture: the kitchen. True, England's DIY skills were also lacking, but nothing made America grip the doorframe and hold back a scream than England decked out in an apron and making _something_ in a kitchen. Maybe if it had been a frilly, pink apron, America might have reacted differently.

"What're you doing," America deadpanned, not really making it a question.

England smiled, and America could almost see the heart form above his head like in the shojo mangas he borrowed from Japan. "There you are, America! I'm almost done, why don't you stay for tea~?"

"We don't have to eat," America said, his palms feeling sweaty against the doorway. "We could just talk."

"That's strange," England said, although his cooking euphoria didn't seem to diminish, "but I could have sworn that eating was one of your top ten habits besides breathing and complaining." It was scary when England used sarcasm; it was scarier when England used sarcasm looking like a friendly old grandmother.

"Really, what's up? If this is your way of getting back at me for telling everyone at the last World Meeting that you have a stuffed unicorn with you when you sleep, I get it…"

England's look darkened. "I already cursed you for that," he glowered, before a ping of the oven brightened his features again. "You should feel uneasy near horses."

Was that ever right. Whenever he passed by a stable back at home, he had a weird image of a bucking white stag with a glowing horn and quickly hurried away. Blinking, America backed away when England pulled a rack out of the oven, positively beaming rainbows.

"America, I made some scones. Do you want to try one?"

"I think I'll pass!" America shrilled, stumbling backwards into the hallway. England's look changed slightly before he snapped his fingers. There was a click and America turned back at the front door; it had mysteriously locked itself.

"Good job, Dryad," England purred – not only was England cooking, but he was talking to his imaginary friends too! He'd come on an off day, America could tell. Now the terrifying blonde was advancing upon him with a tray full of scones. There was no escape.

"I'll eat one only if I don't have to eat them all," America blurted, cutting himself some slack. He was now pressed against the wall as England sauntered up to him with a flirtatious smile.

"You won't want to eat just one when you're done," England chirped.

"What are they, potato chips or something?" America chuckled uneasily as England held a burnt scone up to his mouth. Not only did England have no taste buds, but no nerve ends either – the island nation had just scooped up one fresh-out-of-the-oven scone without burning himself. Pressing his lips together, America prepared himself for the hell also known as England's cooking.

He was not disappointed.

"Mmph!" America felt tears spring to his eyes as the unidentifiable food substance entered his mouth. Pushing past a startled England, he rushed into the kitchen and spat out whatever had been in his mouth in the sink, before rinsing his mouth and poking around for some mouthwash. Anything with alcohol would do; America promptly downed half a bottle of whiskey before the burn set in and he coughed up a fit. England watched him in the doorway with a rack full of rejected scones and a disappointed face.

"Were they that bad?" he asked.

"_Horrible_! Please don't cook anymore." Wiping his mouth, America blinked away the tears from the whiskey. "Especially if you can't cook like Italy."

America was so busy trying to recover that he didn't notice England's disgust until he was hit by the scone tray, scattering the faulty pastries all over the kitchen. "You're comparing my cooking to _Italy's_? Are you bloody retarded?"

"You're right!" America shouted, shielding his head from the blows. "I shouldn't have even compared them when Italy's just on another level from you!" Ducking away until he rushed into the hallway, America continued jabbing at England's injured pride. "Maybe it's true that you can't teach old dogs new tricks, _gramps_."

"You wanker!" America made a mad dash for the door as England careened out of the kitchen with a rolling pin in hand.

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He should have learned from that time, but America had forgotten all about the scone incident once he ran home. He had gone to visit Canada, who was enjoying a visit from France when his brother barged in. Kumajiro sniffed under the seats as America instantly got into an argument with France as Canada tried to pry the two apart. America had just been thrown out of the house, but not fast enough to keep him from grabbing a crepe filled with cream cheese and strawberries and starting to shove it in his mouth as he made his way to England's house again.

"Hmg, Iggy," America mumbled with his mouth full of crepe as he climbed through the kitchen window. He was a hero, which guaranteed that entrances through the door were not for him. He caught England trying to read…was that a _cookbook?_ On Italian dishes? America fell over himself and tumbled onto the floor, landing on his back.

"Ah, crap," he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his lower back, still eating the crepe at the same time. England gave him a look of repulsion before his eyes widened and he snatched the crepe from America's hands.

"That man's food should never enter my kitchen _or_ your mouth!" England spat, throwing the crepe in the trash bin in front of America's eyes. Yowling, he tried to reach for the garbage can as England stood in front of it. "And no child of mine is going to be eating out of the rubbish bin, that's for sure."

"You had no right to throw it away!" America whined. "It was good!"

"And anything I cook isn't, hmm?"

It was a trick question but America fell into it. "Well, yeah!"

"Get out of my house!" America clamored for the window again as England started reaching for a steak knife. Goodness, England could get so edgy about the littlest things.

Feeling rather peckish, America made his way to Italy's house, stopping by Switzerland's as a pit stop to get some chocolate. He'd use it to calm England down the next time he saw his old caretaker.

The next time happened to be one week later, at night, as America fished out a bar of Swiss chocolate as he undressed for bed. Curious, he tried to recall what possessed him to buy such a thing when he leapt into England's bed and started nibbling on it. England walked in on him, from a day full of grocery shopping and bad attempts at cooking.

"What is that?" the blonde demanded, pointing at America. America blinked, his mouth around the corner of the chocolate bar.

"Chocolate," America said, Captain Obvious as he held up the candy.

"Which do you want," England shouted, looking livid, "chocolate or _me_?"

It went without saying that they were going to sleep together that night but America merely cracked another corner off the chocolate while cocking his head. "Can't I have both?"

No sleeping with England that night for America.

America was visiting Japan (more like, he'd walked into Japan's house and started poking around for food) when he brought up the touchy subject of England. "Japan, you can read people. England's been cooking lately. Why is that?"

"England-san is cooking?" Japan sounded amused, pouring tea for America as the latter nation fumbled with his chopsticks and settled for eating sushi as finger food.

"I know, right?!" America sighed, the raw fish tasting better than anything England made. "He's always trying to torture me with it. He's always making _me_ eat it. And he always cooks when I'm around! Honestly, can't he let France be his taste tester?"

"I think France-san would know what was coming," Japan replied wisely, sitting back and watching America eat.

"Whatever. I don't care. Why does he have to inflict it on me?"

"Maybe he doesn't think of it as an infliction."

"We all know England's cooking!"

When America left, Japan smiled at him knowingly, as if he had known something all along. The blonde frowned as he hurried away; Japan always made him feel as if he was two steps behind the crowd. It was already late, as he liked killing time at his friends' houses and he usually had to take the red-eye flight home. This time, fuck it, he'd go to England's house and beg him not to cook anymore. Japan was right; England probably didn't think it was an infliction – perish the thought, it could be a reward!

"Hey, England, I've got to talk to you!" Screw crazy entrances, America burst through the door. He broke in quick and strode through the house, calling for England loudly. There was no answer and America could have easily searched and tore the house apart if he didn't look in the only place England was lately and found him sitting in the kitchen and reading a cookbook while cooking what looked like chocolate.

"England, stop!" America crossed the room in two steps and grabbed England's wrist before he could add something else to the now greening chocolate. "I don't know what's going on, but this is ridiculous. You're cooking like you're Julia Child or something but you're horrible at it!"

"Let go of me!" England resisted, trying to twist out of America's grip.

"And I wouldn't mind you cooking for whatever strange reason, but you just force every one of your creations on _me_. Healthcare just isn't free, you know! What's goin' on?" America surveyed England with a serious look. "You on my case or something?"

England pulled out of America's grasp, taking a step back and bumping into the countertop behind him. "You don't know anything," he spat, looking angry and embarrassed at the same time. "I don't know why I bother doing anything for you with that ungrateful attitude of yours."

"Why're you suddenly so obsessed with cooking for me all of a sudden?"

England crossed his arms, his lips tight as if he could keep the words sucked in. "How do you think I feel when you barge in eating something someone else made for you? I used to cook for you, you know!"

"I don't know. Happy?" When England's expression twisted and the conversation seemed to end, America quickly retreated, remembering how his boss had told him to be open. "How do you feel?" he asked, sounding like a therapist.

"Upset," England spat, backing into a little corner. America followed him until the taller nation was almost overbearing the island nation. He was tight lipped afterwards and America stooped down until he was eye level with England. "Tell me what's wrong, England."

"You know that stupid saying," England muttered, looking away.

"What saying?"

"The way to a man's heart is through his stomach." England almost breathed those words, his voice low with shame. America's eyes widened. "So I didn't want you going to someone else to eat…because we're supposed to be…" England's face was an unhealthy shade of red and America chuckled, leaning in so their noses touched.

"Stupid England," he murmured, earning an irritated sound from the latter. "You shouldn't worry about stupid things like that. I like you no matter what, so you don't have to cook to show it. It's one of the flaws that I love you for."

"That's not very soothing," England pointed out, as America leaned in and kissed him, effortlessly silencing his argument.

"So don't cook anymore," America said finally, as they broke away a little hotter than expected. England glared at him, the scalding effect reduced by the fact he had his arms around America's neck. "Or at least, when you cook, you wear that sexy waiter outfit of yours."

"In your bloody dreams, America."

Owari

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Note: It would definitely be England if he worried about things like petty sayings. Review?


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